


Games you don't want to play

by ophidianpoet



Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:51:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophidianpoet/pseuds/ophidianpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How can The Narrator trust Stanley not to disobey him again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Games you don't want to play

**Author's Note:**

> follow-up to my "I don't think you could do anything on your own" fic. Also you'll appreciate this particular fic a little more if you played the game/have some knowledge about the different endings ok

Stanley walked off the elevator, one palm resting against his forehead, still a little dizzy from The Narrator assisting him before. And The Narrator joining in like that…Stanley kept reviewing the way The Narrator’s voice had sounded over and over, breathless and ecstatic. Obviously he had liked what Stanley was doing. He sounded as if he’d liked it a lot.

Stanley wasn’t even sure if The Narrator existed outside of his own head. But if the previous statement were to be true, he was even less sure about wanting to meet the man face-to-face.

Walking through the underground hallways of the office building he thought he knew, Stanley noticed a few doors down here as well, tucked away in the dark beyond the dim red lights. He stopped, glancing around at the signs (some mundane, some vaguely threatening) and swinging bulbs, and chose to try a few doors. He had been down here a couple times already; perhaps there was some other path he hadn’t found yet.

He jiggled the handle of one door, and another, and was going to just head down the most well-lit walkway, when his hand struck something in the dark. It was a handle, to an almost completely hidden door. Stanley couldn’t even see it. He could only feel the cold press of the metal handle into his palm. He grasped and turned, and the door swung inward. Stanley heard a noise of surprise coming from something that sounded awfully human, and he stepped inside.

The room wasn’t very brightly lit, and didn’t contain much other than a desk with a very comfortable-looking chair in which sat the first person Stanley had seen since all his co-workers mysteriously vanished. It was strange to look at, a man-shaped space that seemed to reflect surfaces not present in that little room, walls and planes Stanley had seen before. It had the suggestion of neatly-combed hair that had been mussed in frustration, and a pair of eyes sitting behind prim little spectacles on it’s head, eyes that glowed softly like video screens.

"How did you…oh, I knew I forgot to lock the bloody door…!” the being spoke, and at once Stanley knew he was facing his Narrator. Curious, Stanley moved closer to him and as he did, the Narrator shifted in appearance, gradually appearing less like an odd hole in space, and more human the closer Stanley came. The Narrator got up out of the chair and took a few steps back, looking a bit uneasy at Stanley being so close.

"What are you doing in here? The facility’s that way, there’s nothing in here but me, and I’m out there as well." The Narrator spoke, pointing behind Stanley to the still-open door. He scooped up a loosely-bound sheaf of papers, marked with "THE STANLEY PARABLE" in large block letters, and held them clutched to his chest like a shield. The Narrator looked almost completely like a regular person, save for his still-glowing eyes. Stanley guessed that was because the Narrator could still see everything, no matter what he looked like. Was he an alien? Some kind of computer program? A god? Stanley turned and looked behind him in the direction the Narrator was pointing, then stubbornly walked behind the Narrator’s desk.

"What do you expect to accomplish in here? Do you feel validated, sure that you’re not insane because you can see what’s been talking to you this whole time? Does that make this any easier for you?" The Narrator asked, standing his ground as Stanley approached.

Stanley was fascinated. He’d never pictured what the Narrator looked like, never tried to put a face to the voice, but now that they stood before each other, he couldn’t stop staring. The Narrator had adjusted his for to that of an older British gentleman with a few lines under his eyes and lightly graying hair wearing a monochrome argyle sweater over a white buttoned shirt. Khaki slacks and smart black shoes as well…the Narrator certainly looked like someone who could be counted on to know everything. As Stanley looked, the Narrator raised a brow, and resumed speaking as if Stanley weren’t inches away from him.

"Stanley stared at this strange, new face before him, dumbfounded. Could this really be the singular Narrator?" the Narrator said in mocking astonishment. "Yes, Stanley was sure of it. After all, every other person in his life had abandoned him but one, the only one who cared to stick with him for so long." 

Stanley nodded, fully aware of who he was looking at. It was somewhat of a relief, knowing that he probably wasn’t entirely insane; being able to see the voices inside your head did make it easier to live with them. 

The Narrator made a “hmph” noise, and flipped open his heavily page-marked script, thumbing through the pages while occasionally flicking his eyes back up at Stanley.

"This isn’t like the broom closet, Stanley, this is just me. I’m here for one purpose, and that you already know: to tell you what to do. My story has nothing to do with our meeting like this, so out you go. Go on, back to business." He waved a hand dismissively in the direction of the door. Stanley looked back out in to the darkness of the building’s underground area, back to the elevator…Stanley walked over to the door and shut it, turning to face the Narrator.

"Oh wait, is this…is this about what just happened in the elevator? When I…ah. Yes, it must be." he adjusted his glasses nervously. "Most of your species get very caught up in that sort of thing. Not that I blame them, I thought it was quite nice, heheh." Stanley felt his own face get slightly warmer, and he made the decision to try something new. He stepped forward and gently pressed his lips against the Narrator’s.

The Narrator’s brows shot up in surprise, his hands reaching forward as if to push Stanley away, but he didn’t pull back. He stood motionless and let Stanley kiss him for a moment or so before he placed a light hand on Stanley’s arm, indicating that he didn’t want this to be over. He gripped Stanley’s arm tighter, then abruptly let go, pulling away.

"Stanley I don’t… I can’t continue this if you’re just going to leave and go do something else." The Narrator said quietly.Stanley couldn’t speak, but he reached out and touched the Narrator’s face, hoping that would be enough. "You’re actually going to commit to my story?" the Narrator asked, daring to let tiny sparks of hope light his words. Stanley nodded, and the Narrator’s demeanor completely changed.

"Good. Then get the hell out from behind my desk."

Shocked, Stanley scooted back and walked in front of the Narrator’s desk. The Narrator advanced on him slowly, and behind him, Stanley heard the door swing shut, locked, he was sure.

"You could go on and on about how committed you are to my story, Stanley…but can I really trust you? After you hurt me over and over…after I begged you to just stop moving. No, no I can’t just take your word for it. You’ve got to show me. Prove to me that you’ll listen to me, that you’ll obey." 

Stanley nodded. Anything. He was so desperate to have something direct him, he decided he would do anything to stay close to the Narrator

"Stanley lowered himself,slowly and carefully to his knees." The Narrator ordered, giving Stanley a tight, brief smile once he sank to the floor as he walked forward. Stanley kept a lowered gaze, but he noticed the slight flush in The Narrator’s cheeks as he approached. There was the sound of the Narrator unfastening his slacks, removing a belt…Stanley looked at the carpet, shy. He heard the Narrator give a quiet sigh, and glanced up to see that he had his neatly-folded belt in one hand, and his cock in the other. 

"He saw the belt in the Narrator’s hands, but knew as well as anyone that it wouldn’t be needed. Why use such a forceful tool of coercion on him? No, Stanley knew that all the Narrator would have to do to get his compliance, would be to speak. And so he did. Stanley, put your hands behind your back and don’t move them." 

Stanley did as he was told. It felt good, and he wondered for a moment if the Mind Control Facility equipment had been turned back on. He was immediately distracted, however, by the sound of the Narrator letting his belt fall to the floor, and a second later he had a hand in Stanley’s hair, not pulling, simply gripping. Gripping, indicating clearly to who the control of the situation belonged.

"Stanley opened his mouth, already he was reading the situation correctly. If he really wanted to show the Narrator he could be trusted, he would have to offer nothing but complete obedience." the Narrator ordered, but Stanley balked. He was in fact reading the situation correctly, and he knew he’d be giving the Narrator a blowjob once he opened his mouth…but was that really alright? Was he okay with doing that for another man? And what would his wife think? What was her name, anyway?

"Ahem. Stanley, are you listening?" The Narrator asked impatiently, and Stanley’s focus snapped back to the situation at hand. "Having never done anything like this before in his life, Stanley was at a loss. No one had ever cared about him enough to put him in this situation, so how was he to know what to do?" the Narrator goaded.

Stanley leaned his head forward, opening his mouth and closing his eyes, mindful of keeping his hands stationary behind his back, hoping he looked like an eager, diligent worker, ready and willing to serve. And as expected, Stanley’s head was shoved even further forward as the Narrator slid himself inside Stanley’s mouth.

"Nngh, ah, S-stanley realized he’d need to do something other than just sit there motionless, _ah_ , so he got back to business and, nngh, **oh** my…started sucking properly…” the Narrator stammered, one hand gripping Stanley’s hair and the other fisting in the back of Stanley’s crisp white shirt. Stanley relaxed as much as he could with the Narrator shoved down his throat, and he slid his head up and down the Narrator’s shaft, sucking him off. The sound of the Narrator’s helpless little “ _Oh, oh, oh_!” in time with Stanley’s tempo was amazing, and soon the Narrator had Stanley’s head in both his hands and was roughly fucking Stanley’s throat. The Narrator let his head fall back and bit his lower lip and with a few more ragged thrusts, he came into Stanley’s mouth.

It was incredible, Stanley thought. This was why he existed, to do what he was told. As long as there was someone around to give him orders, or to use him, his life would always have meaning. The Narrator smiled darkly as he slowly pulled his cock out of Stanley’s dripping mouth.

And Stanley was happy.


End file.
